This Secret Changes Everything
by annemarieknight
Summary: This is my first attempt at shipping Draco/Hermione. Sorry, you gotta read to find out! But I will tell you, there's a huge twist. Everything Draco thought he knew, he didn't. And everything that seemed like the only cold hard truth was a lie.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling, and I can't claim her characters, plot line, or anything else she did that I didn't. Unfortunately. If I could, I'd be rich, and I'm not…believe me. I can only claim a few plot twists here and there in this, and my dialogue, lol. Thanks!**

He turned the corner slowly, feeling things he never had before. No, that was a stretch, just feeling something at all was strange enough. He realized for the first time that, in his entire life, he'd never really _felt_ anything. Or, at least, nothing but neutral dislike and hereditary hatred for all muggle-borns or Harry Potter-related things and people. How strange it was for his heart to feel present, beating…as though he had one.

He was careful to keep his eyes on the stone floor passing slowly below his feet, so it was a while before he noticed he'd passed the entrance to the Common Room already. With a heavy breath, he turned around, walking back until he reached it.

"Basilisk." He muttered, then passed through the stone door and went straight to his dorm room, sitting on his bed and folding his hands in thought. Even if the vague voices he'd heard while passing through the Common Room had been calling him, he didn't feel like listening to anyone right now. And he was sick of pretending to care about their trivial troubles.

All of it, everything he'd ever used to think was important, he expected now, at this moment, had been irrelevant. All the stupid things he'd done, said, or even thought, he regretted now with burning intensity.

Everything had changed.

Since her.

Or had it been since he realized he loved her? The lines were blurred somewhere in the middle. Or maybe it was just another one of those things that just didn't matter. Either way, he loved her now.

Maybe he always had.

She paced back and forth in the back row of the library where no one could see her. After seven years at Hogwarts, Madame Pince had finally decided that she would never hurt a book, so even she stayed away. Every now and then, she would run her fingers along the spines of the books surrounding her. There were so few times they had failed her…and this was one of them. Perhaps the worst.

No book could explain what it felt like to be in love, how to know whether or not you were in it, why it even happened to begin with and with the people it did. Was your chest feeling five times its normal size a symptom? What an awful word to describe this wonderful, horrible, terrifying sensation…but she could think of nothing else.

It was the last thing she'd expected to happen in her life, especially with him, of all people. Being one of Harry Potter's best friends, she'd learned to expect the unexpected, but this, it was more than unexpected.

But it had happened.

And it had all started with knowing his secret, a secret that should have changed things. And it had, just not in the way she'd wanted.

But it seemed there was someone watching out for all of them who wanted something better for them than they wanted for themselves.

It was easiest to believe that now.

But could he love her back? Even though nothing was the same, could it make a difference to him?

It was the most painful question she'd ever asked.

And yet again –twice in one day- a book could not answer.


	2. Chapter One

Hermione's eyes opened, wide and aware as though she hadn't slept at all and wasn't just waking up. Only one thing could ever make her this excited, she realized as a smile spread across her face, the first day of a new term. The chance for new knowledge, new lessons, new spells. Even though she'd ready every single textbook thoroughly to prepare, nothing could beat the feeling of a desk below her elbows and a quill in her fingers. And after the past year, she couldn't wait to be involved in something as normal and familiar as Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry again.

She rolled out of bed and made for her uniform, which hung at the end of her four-poster. She didn't even yawn a she began to dress, pulling on her sweater, skirt, socks, shoes robes, covering up the scars she still retained from the previous year. She, Harry and Ron's sixth year had been a trying one, containing many obstacles (some of which they _all _still carried scars from) all leading up the final –and triumphant- battle with Lord Voldemort. She could almost shudder at some of the memories, but she didn't. If there was one thing she'd learned in her life that hadn't come from a book, it was that she was stronger than even she knew.

McGonagall had already agreed to allow them to continue on to seventh year, only extending it two months to make up for the material they'd missed during the last term. Of course, the final battle had left some noticeable gaps in the student body, but those who didn't feel they could handle it had simply transferred, but that was a small number only. All things considered, though it had been hard up until now, almost everything seemed to be, well…back to normal.

Unfortunately, as with anything, the term "normal" included both the good…and the bad. In this case, the bad was a mixture of hearing Harry and Ron complain of already having to make up their Divination homework, finding out that their first few lessons in Transfiguration would not come from the text Hermione had so avidly studied, five points from Gryffindor in Charms because Neville had misheard Professor Flitwick's instruction and given Parvati dog ears for a good hour-and-a-half, and their own personal day-ruiner, Draco Malfoy.

As if coming to Double Potions wasn't bad enough, even though Snape obviously no longer taught the class, Hermione was disheartened to find that they still had this class with the Slytherins. Didn't it ever cross Professor McGonagall's mind to switch things up a bit?

As Harry and Ron grumbled at her side, she set up her cauldron and supplies silently, then began to work on the complex (yes, she admitted it) potion before them. They had been working for a miraculously quiet hour when Malfoy at last managed to claim one of the Gryffindors had sneezed on him, and that was the reason his potion was pale green rather than sunset orange. Professor Gillium, who seemed far from the brightest person to pass through Hogwarts, though good at Potions, fell for it. She failed to notice Draco's triumphant smirk and snicker behind her back. Hermione shredded her dragonfly wings with gritted teeth. How he dared these things now she would never know…

After another impossibly long hour and forty five minutes, Hermione corked the small vial of Potion she'd produced and handed it in. Ron (his potion a sort of fucsia) and Harry (bright red) followed moments behind her. They gathered up their things just in time for dismissal, joining the small throng as the class bottlenecked through the dungeon door.

Suddenly, Hermione was shoved roughly aside, and even as Harry steadied her and caught Ron's robes at the same time, she knew who it had been.

Draco Malfoy stood before them, laughing at Ron's beat red face and Harry's death stare. "You'll do well to stay out of my way, _Mudblood_." He spat the last word, as he always did, most likely always would.

Ron clenched his fists and Harry tensed, but they managed to let him walk away, chortling with Crabbe and Goyle at his side.

"So help me…" Ron was muttering under his breath in a hostile voice.

"Just leave it." Hermione said firmly, readjusting her shoulder bag and heading for dinner. She'd wanted things back to normal…and so they were.


	3. Chapter Two

"Damn ugly git." Ron muttered while working on the 18-inch essay Snape had assigned them a week ago. The fact that he was working on it that night meant it was due the next day. That was Ron's pattern. Hermione's or course was finished and tucked safely in her bag for next class.

"Snape? Yeah…" Harry moaned, sucking the end of his quill and looking down at his parchment. Looking up from her book and over his shoulder, Hermione could see that he had written what looked like 12 words.

"No…" Ron answered in a low voice Hermione almost didn't hear.

"What, then?" Harry asked, his brows low over his eyes as he looked at Ron in confusion.

Hermione had a good hunch as she closed her book with an audible thud and sighed. "Please tell me you're not still on about Malfoy…"

"What if I am?" He snapped.

Hermione looked at him incredulously. In previous years, comments such as these hadn't bothered her so much. She and Ron had once been very taken with each other, drawn close by the horrific events of the previous year. After everything had ended, they'd grown apart once again, both deciding that their feelings for one another were more along the lines of brother-sister. Lately, Ron had seemed to be fancying other girls again, and every now and then, some part of Hermione would be bothered by it, but mostly because she hadn't found anyone else, not because of any lingering romantic feelings for him. She supposed that one day, she would find the right person, as would he. She just didn't know when that day would be. But as always, boys were the least of her concerns, especially now that she had her last year of studies to focus on, followed closely by finding a job in the Wizarding world outside of Hogwarts.

"Then you're obsessing and it's a bit annoying." Hermione answered, staring him down. "I've been taking care of myself for quite some time now, and-"

"Yeah, yeah, we know…" Ron said, a surly moping look on his face as he looked back down at his blank parchment.

"Wait, we?" Harry said. "You two can leave m out of this. I haven't forgotten that time you hit Malfoy, Hermione." He smiled at her, and she blushed a bit, but smiled back.

Ron cracked a small smile as well even though it was obvious he was trying not to. "Best memory I've got, that one."

Hermione smiled at him as well, then looked back down, opening her book again. "Besides, it isn't as though I've never been shoved before." She added. "And when you get down to it, he's all talk. He's never hurt me." She looked around at them. They were looking at her questioningly, and she backtracked a bit. "If you're thinking of my teeth in fourth year, he meant that for you, Harry, not me."

He looked at her in surprise.

"Not that that's all right!" She added hastily. "But we all know he's always had it in for you, Harry. And you, Ron, mostly because you're on Harry's side. Has he ever done any _real_ harm, though?"

She was pleased (although she wasn't exactly sure why) that they both had looks of deep thought on their faces, their eyes distant. Ron opened his mouth a lot, ready to spout off reasons that Malfoy was evil, but shut it quickly, again and again realizing that a lot of the things they remembered were exaggerated by youth and excitement. Harry seemed resigned. Then again, he'd always been less inclined to argue with Hermione than Ron was. Or maybe he'd decided it didn't matter anymore. His days of worrying about Death Eaters and Dark Arts were over, and Hermione was glad for him.

Finally, after minutes of silence, Ron spoke, looking excited. His eyes even lit up. "He let Death Eaters into the school sixth year! He was the start of everything going wrong here!" He looked at her triumphantly.

She looked back at him from beneath raised brows. "Ron, you know what Harry heard in the bathroom. He was doing it because he had to. Voldemort was going to kill his family! Maybe he wanted to at first, but I think last year he may have realized he didn't want that life. You would have done the same if it had been your family, wouldn't you?"

"Of course!" He answered angrily, mad because she was right.

More silence followed in which more nonactivity persisted. Their potions essays stayed the same lengths: short. Or nonexistent in Ron's case. Hermione suspected he was trying to think of more truly evil things Malfoy had done.

He put his quill down on the table roughly. "Why are you acting like this anyway?" He demanded.

Hermione looked up from the page she'd started reading again in confusion and shrugged. "Like what?"

"Like-like…" He thought a moment, and part of her expected him to start waving his arms around in frustration like a madman. "Like you're trying to _get inside his head_ or something…" He spoke as though disgusted.

Hermione shrugged again.

"Would you stop that?!" Ron pleaded.

She didn't address his request. "Maybe I am." She spoke the worlds aloud and sounded like a stranger to herself for a split second. "Things are different now."

Even Harry looked up at that, and he and Ron shared a glance. "They are?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded, that knowing look in her eyes. "He's still a nasty person of course, and rude and selfish, but we know things now we didn't before."

"…like what?" Ron asked.

But Hermione was already reading her book again and acting as though she hadn't heard them.

Hours later, Hermione went up to bed, the boys still working on their essays and Ron badgering her "_What's_ different, Hermione?!" She didn't answer.

She hadn't decided yet when she would tell them. It was her secret. Well…his. Of course, she would tell them eventually. But for now, she liked being the only one who knew. It was a secret she appreciated, respected.

And, she decided, yes, in a way…it did change things.


	4. Chapter Three

Next Potions class, Hermione noticed that Harry and Ron could not restrain themselves from giving Malfoy a rather disdainful stare. She rolled her eyes and elbowed Ron before leading them to the last empty table. Unfortunately, they were a little later than usual and had the table third from the front. This table happened to be right behind Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.

Hermione looked down and began arranging her cauldron and Potions ingredients next to her book. The Potion they would be working on and its ingredients were already posted on the board and she didn't dare waste any time. Not to mention besides, she hadn't the slightest interest in the glaring contest continuing between the two tables.

Sighing in exasperation, she lifted her head again. "Please, if you two keep at it –"

She didn't get to finish. Professor Snape (my sister hated me for saying he was dead, so just pretend her lived, lol), using one of his usual entrances (kicking open the door) to attract attention chose that moment to appear. He strode to the front and Hermione straightened her back and lifted her chin. When he turned, he folded his hands thoughtfully and glowered at them. Ron cringed back a bit.

"If you have half the intelligence of a mountain troll, you will have noticed the instructions on the board by now." He purposefully did not look in Hermione's direction. She supposed this was because she ruined the image of Gryffindors he tried to portray as irresponsible dolts. "Begin." He finished, and then swept off the dais to swoop on unsuspecting students like a vulture for the rest of class.

Hermione diligently began working, and even the Professor could find nothing to chide her for when he came round their table. He spent a good five minutes torturing poor Ron, ending by telling him to re-chop his lemongrass in the _correct_ manner. Hermione was far ahead of them and so she leaned over and helped him when Snape wasn't looking.

"Thanks…" he said, voice filled with shame.

"You had them well enough before, Snape just wanted trouble." She said comfortingly.

"No."He argued, depressed. "I'm just no good. At anything…"

"Well, you've got that much right, Weasleby." Malfoy said, turning and leaning against their table as though he were something to look at. He didn't even bother lowering his voice. If he knew anything, it was that he wouldn't get in trouble with Snape. In all seriousness, Malfoy shouldn't even have been at Hogwarts, as he had the dark mark and had been in the service of the Dark Lord along with his father and mother. His father had managed to get out of trouble, again, looking as pathetic as he did. Of course, Malfoy was a student, and besides, he technically hadn't done anything to be chucked into Azkaban for even if he weren't. And so, he was still here.

"Stay out of this." Hermione said venomously. Regardless of the truth she'd discovered and her slightly-changed tone toward him, he still had no right to treat people badly.

"Come on, Granger. Weasley needs to face the music sometime. He's worth about as much as dragon dung." He looked at Crabbe and Goyle, their cue to laugh at whatever he'd said whether it was funny or not.

"Speak for yourself." Harry said, his fists clenched at his side.

"Don't!" Hermione hissed.

"Oh, please do." Malfoy sneered, and Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward. This was, after all, their area of expertise.

"Shall I have them teach you a lesson too, Granger? About why Mudbloods shouldn't be at Ho-"

Malfoy was cut off as both Ron and Harry dove over the table, lunging at him even though Crabbe and Goyle were who they met. In all the commotion, Harry's robes hung under his cauldron while Ron's shoe caught his. Hermione didn't realize in time, and though she tried to stop it, both cauldrons tipped and their contents splattered to the floor. Both Ron and harry had been so far off in their work that the potions mixing produced something entirely different than the courage elixir they'd been concocting. With a sinister 'hiss,', smoke, thick and green rose into the air.

"Idiots!" Snape roared as he coughed. He'd gotten the brunt of the smoke since he'd been making his way over at the sight of the scuffle. It quickly spread throughout the entire dungeon, as thick as swamp fog. No one could see further than a foot in front of them.

"Fools!" Snape bellowed again. "Everyone out! I can't work a spell to fix this with all of you nitwits in the way!"

The sound of coughing and shuffling hesitant feet filled the room as everyone headed for the door. It was very easy to get turned around when one couldn't see, even in a room as small as that dungeon.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice came through the fog.

"Hermione, where are you?" That was Ron.

"I'm fine!" She shouted in reply. "I'll be right behind you, go on!" They didn't sound within reach or she would have tried to grab for their arms.

They didn't answer her again, so she assumed they'd done what she asked. When the throng seemed to die down a bit, she held her hand out in front of her and began carefully stumbling toward the door. She wasn't even sure if anyone was in the room with her anymore.

Suddenly, there was a hand on her back. She shrieked in surprise and turned. Draco Malfoy stood behind her.

He scoffed in disgust and wiped his hand on the front of his robes. "Believe me when I say I did _not _mean to touch _you._" He spat.

"There's nothing wrong with me." She replied confidently.

"Oh, yes there is, Mudblood. As I was saying before your two idiot friends –"

"Don't call me that! And Harry and Ron aren't idiots!" She was still traveling through the smoke, hand outstretched, and he followed. "If you hadn't been antagonizing them earlier…"

"As if it's my fault!" He said as though in shock. "Drop it, Mudblood."

She stopped, dropping her arm and turning to him. Compared to the things she and Harry and Ron had faced together, Malfoy was hardly a threat and she wasn't afraid of him. He hadn't been expecting her to stop, so he'd come even closer than she thought. "Stop. Calling. Me. That." She said, her voice lower than usual and deadly serious. "I know your secret, Draco. Both of us. And you have NO right to treat me this way. I will never take offense at that word again because if comes form the mouth of a liar. But believe me when I say it would be better to stop it altogether."

"I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about." He backed away as he spoke, sneering.

"Yes, you…" She paused as she realized…he was telling the truth. He'd never looked more confused and he wasn't a good enough actor to pull that off. "You really don't know…"

He glared at her, but did not have a response.

She regrouped quickly, thinking only for a second. "Ask your mother. Get her to tell you what you _really_ are. I'm not doing her dirty work for her."

And then, she left him alone in the thick smoke. He would ask, she knew that for sure.


	5. Chapter Four

Later that night, Draco sat alone in his dorm room. It was dinnertime, so all of his usual roommates were busy in the Great Hall. He just hadn't found himself hungry this evening. His hands were clasped together between his knees as he thought, his grey eyes distant and (as they rarely were) not narrowed in hatred or disgust. In truth, he got rather tired of doing that, but it was an expected reaction to Mudbloods and traitors, even now that the war was past. It had been expected of him for so long that he doubted he could stop feeling that way if he wanted. But he was a Malfoy, this was right…wasn't it? He shouldn't have to be ashamed of being born pure, all-Wizard, not a drop of selfish, revolting Muggle blood in his body. It was all right to be proud, and that's all he was, proud of his family and his lineage. His identity. So, that was why the Granger girl's comment would not leave his mind.

He moved his hands upward, closing his eyes and rubbing them with the ends of his fingers. Few things managed to cause him to think this much, certainly not school. He kept hearing what she'd said there in the smoke-filled Potions room over and over. _"Your mother will tell you what you are…"_ Or something to that effect. What else _could_ he be, damn it? A Wizard, a Malfoy, a man, what could she mean?! He jumped to his feet and kicked the first thing in sight, the night table next to his bed. The few things on it fell off as it tipped and banged to the floor. Good thing he wasn't much on keep-sakes or knick-knacks. He walked to the small window in the close dark room and leaned on the sill, fists supporting his weight. Funny how much smaller and closer to the ground that window seemed now…and how he no longer felt young. Now was the time to do his final bit of growing up, and he could not spend it mulling on what he was. Likely, the Mudblood didn't even know what she was talking about, and he was toiling for nothing. He would settle this. Once and forever.

Draco pushed himself back upright, turning away from the distant sunset and darkening sky. His cloak hung on his bedpost above the hangings, and he practically tore it down, then ripped parchment, ink and quill from his desk and slid them into his pocket. He strode across the room and wrenched open the door, sweeping the cloak over his shoulders as he descended the spiral stairs.

The common room was surprisingly vacant as he crossed it and left, taking the various twists and turns that led to the Entrance hall above. He met no one. Passing by the doors to the Great hall, he could hear moderate and drowsy chatter, it had to be dessert. He passed by and continued al the way up the Marble Staircase, higher and higher until at last he stood in the Owlery. The air was crisp coming through the owl's exits and he was glad he'd thought to grab the cloak. Gingerly, he walked over to a sill and pulled out the parchment, quill and ink. He wrote hurriedly:

_Mother,_

_I have some questions to ask you. The Granger girl said some strange things to me today, something about not knowing 'what I am.' I know it's nothing to worry over, but I thought I'd ask just the same._

_Draco_

He had decided on the way up not to mention the Mudblood had told him to ask his mother in particular. He whistled for his Eagle Owl, Darkling while he hastily folded the letter in half, and when Darkling landed, Draco slipped the parchment into his beak.

"For Mother." He said simply. Darkling would know where to find her no matter what. He walked him to the nearest window and let him out, standing and watching until the owl disappeared behind the dark night clouds. For a moment, Draco stayed there, wondering what the reply would tell him, but a sudden chill made him shake, and he took the opportunity to come out of his solitude. The walk back down to the dungeons seemed long and lonely…as always.

Draco did not sleep easily that night; he tossed and turned, first unable to fall asleep, then unable to stay that way. Despite what he'd told himself, which was that sending his mother the letter would help him move past this, his mind still raced trying to figure out what Granger had meant. It was not until early in the morning, only an hour or so before the sky would begin to light up again that he fell into a peaceful, dreamless slumber…

"Draco!"

His eyes shot open again. He could only have been asleep for thirty minutes or less. Severus Snape was above him, leaning through his curtains, looking the same as usual. Did the man ever sleep?

"What?!" Draco hissed. He didn't dare be insolent to Snape, he was only favored in school matters. If it had been anyone else, he would have told them to bugger off and leave him the hell alone.

"Get out of bed and get dressed. Be quick about it. I'll be waiting in the Common Room." He withdrew, and Draco heard no footsteps to the stairs though he knew he'd left. For a moment, he lay there and wondered if he'd been dreaming, but he decided he was awake and groaned as he swung his feet to the floor. He found himself losing the tired feeling as he got dressed. After all, he'd been much more sick and exhausted with fear and worry when he'd been in the Dark Lord's service. His left arm tingled at the thought and he put a hand on it gingerly, seeming to feel warmth through his sleeve.

Being a Death Eater had been much the childhood fantasy for him, just as Professional Quidditch or being the youngest Minister of Magic were to normal children. But he'd had time to think it over and really, he'd been much too young to receive the Dark mark. Just as any 16-year-old couldn't really be Minister or play Quidditch for England, and he'd come to feel that what had happened to him wasn't quite…fair. When he'd told these things to his father, he'd simply called him a coward and hit him for shaming the name of Malfoy. He never confided in his father afterward. He'd spoiled Draco and practically bred him to be one thing, and one thing only. Anything else counted him as a failure. Really, his future was quite dim no matter which way he went about looking at it.

But, it was no use sulking, he only had the one choice and the one life to live. Snape was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

"What's so important that you had to wake me in the middle of the night?" Draco snapped.

"You have a visitor in the Headmaster's office apparently, he informs me it's urgent." Snape answered, his voice somberly monotone.

"What kind of visitor would I have at this hour?" Draco asked, but Snape had already begun walking and he had no choice but to follow him, seeing as Snape wasn't in a talkative mood. He continued to remain silent in the long trek up to Dumbledore's office, and once they'd passed the Gargoyle and climbed the stairs, he left Draco alone to knock.

When Dumbledore opened the door, Draco stepped in and caught sight of a cloaked figure over the Headmaster's shoulder. It turned and two long-fingered hands came up to lower the green hood. Long blonde hair tumbled out, free of the confinement.

"Mother?"


	6. Chapter Five

Draco had never been rushed so quickly across the castle grounds and down to the gates as when his mother dragged him behind her that night. The stars seemed to go on forever in either direction, dotting the sky like the bottoms of so many exclamation points, and he couldn't help but notice in fleeting glimpses. Mostly though, they blurred together as his feet carried him swiftly over the wet grass. The sky looked a lot like his head felt at the moment. As the dew soaked the hem of his cloak and began eating into his socks, he tried to process just what was going on.

His mother had not yet spoken to him. After he'd arrived in Dumbledore's office, all hell had seemed to break loose for a moment…

Flashback

"Mother?"

Narcissa came forward quickly and grabbed his upper arm roughly. Her hand was small and her fingers slim, she could hardly get them around his arm. Whether or not he could get away if he wanted wasn't even a question. She seemed shocked for a moment, like this was the first time she'd realized hr son was 17 years old. Her grip loosened. She turned and looked at Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Headmaster. I'll take it from here."

"Headmaster, you do know I stand against this."

"He's not your son, Snape!"

Draco had never heard his mother call him by his last name in his life…

"You don't need to tell him-"

"He asked! He should know!"

"You're going to make him despise you."

Here, there was a pause after the jumble of arguments before. Dumbledore's hands were folded beneath his chin, and his eyes weren't doing that sparkling thing everyone was so fascinated with. "What?" Draco's soft and confused question slipped out. (Note: Yes, Dumbledore is still alive. You can make up whatever reason you want for that, it's just easier for me if he didn't die).

"He won't." Narcissa said, her voice full of conviction, though the small bit of doubt seeping through was enough to dull the effect.

"I assure you, he will. He's grown up believing it, Narcissa-"

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice was soft and far from threatening, but enough to make Snape stop and listen. Even Draco turned to the bespectacled Headmaster. "Draco is Lucius and Narcissa's son, so regardless-"

"You think Lucius would want this? He doesn't even-!"

"Regardless…" Dumbledore cut Snape off with a dangerous glare. He _was_ more threatening then. "…of how you feel, Severus, it is their choice."

"I want to know what the _hell_ is going on!" Draco exclaimed, but it was like no one heard him.

"Goodnight." Narcissa said to no one in particular, and pulled him unceremoniously from the room.

End Flashback.

The manor seemed dull and lifeless when at last they apparated into it. Had he ever really realized how cold it was? Its endless hallways and immense rooms had once been alive with activity, plans to win the war. Now, nearly everyone they once knew was dead or in Azkaban, his father included. And the house was gray.

"Tell me what's going on." He demanded. "Is something wrong? Is father all right? Does this have anything to do with the letter I sent you?" The last question fell softly and fearfully from his lips.

She was pacing in front of him, wringing her long-fingered hands over her stomach. It was the closest he'd ever seen her come to crying, or having a mental breakdown…anything along those lines. He wasn't even sure that she'd heard his questions. Or if she had, he wasn't sure she'd understood them. "Mother?" He asked again. She looked up at him again and he stared at her with lowered brows, waiting for something, anything.

"Draco…" She said almost in a whisper. "You understand that anything I've ever told you has been for your own good, don't you? I would never want you to grow up thinking bad things about yourself. So even if something is a lie, is it a good lie if it is for the good of a person you love?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! I just want to know that everyone is all right!" Of course, Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban, but still you were all right there if you were alive and sane. Had his father died? Finally lost his mind? "Is Father-"

"Lucius Malfoy is not your father."

She stared him in the eye, did not look away as someone who had been lying to their child for seventeen years should have. Her hands had moved to her sides, hanging limply there in resignation, waiting for him to do something, he supposed. But what was he supposed to do? This was all a joke. Or a dream or something. None of this was happening.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

A tear really did roll down her cheek now, and he knew then that what she was saying must be the truth. His heart sped up and heat rushed to his cheeks, the vein in his neck swelling and throbbing. He didn't want to yell though, not at her…"You…lied to me." His voice came out more threatening than he'd meant. Maybe it would have been better if he yelled.

"Draco, you must know that being married to your father, it wasn't always…hasn't always been the easiest thing."

"I don't know any such thing." He said venomously. He'd practically worshiped his father. There was no one he admired more.

"Think back on the times when he was not kind to you." She said, her voice getting louder as she tried to defend herself. "There were times like that for me as well. More of them. It got a little better once you were born, but it has never been pleasant."

"My father is a great ma-"

"He is _not_ your father!" She screamed, grabbing great clumps of hair in her hands and shedding more tears into the expensive carpet. But she was angry with him now, not just sad. "You don't know _anything_ about who he is!" She looked up and pointed a finger at him. "And don't you _dare_ presume to tell me that you know what my life has been like! The only reason I've even stayed with him this long is because of you! I love _you! _And I wanted you to have a decent education, the best, and to grow up somewhere you could have whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted it! If Lucius had known…that you didn't belong to him, he would have thrown us into the streets…and adulterer and…" She trailed off with more tears, biting her lip and trembling.

"And what?" He challenged her. "Say it, mother. What could possibly be worse than what you've already told me?"

"An adulterer and a half-blood." She stared at him defiantly.

For some reason, before he could think of anything else, he thought of Hermione. She'd known, somehow, known for a long time…she'd been right. And he'd been a fool.


End file.
